Neverland
by DBJonah
Summary: Not in relation to 0809, started this months ago, just now finished it - Carl never knew... reminiscing could bring back supposedly forgotten memories


Tribute to our boy, Carl Grimes

He will be missed, even if you didn't like his character you can't deny we looked forward to him being the future, he was the next step of the show or so most of us thought

With that, I give you this, for Carl is now part of a list of teens that have met a similar demise in regards to The Walking Dead.

WARNING Swears as well as some of my personal head-cannons, not sure how detailed but there is gore, also mentions of Carl having legit relationships with some of the mentioned people, romance isn't the only love out there after all!

He knew what it felt like now. That feeling of acceptance. He'd never accepted anything in his life for what it was, at least not as often as he should have, with the dead walking all over he'd learned hard the first time not to get too attached, even to those you loved. Looking back now he could recount those scant few times he let himself be unguarded, let his protective barriers allow someone else in. He remembered…those elated feelings…those good feelings that used to be so constant in his life before…before everything went to shit and he lost all that mattered to him one by one.

Sophia. Sweet Sophia. She'd been his first friend when this had all happened, something stable for him to count on every day when he couldn't count on his mom; much as he loved her, sometimes she was off more than she was around, often leaving him with Dale or someone else. He didn't love her any less, she was his mom, because of it, Sophia had become something to him, the closest thing a best friend could be to a kid who was prepubescent and didn't care for the female anatomy. His world had broken just a bit when she went missing, torn apart completely when they'd found her days later.

He'd watched her step out of that barn, skin that used to be a vibrant and lively tone was now sickly and grey, a bite mark congealed with old blood gleaming on her living dead shoulder. He always thought she had gone peacefully, that she hadn't suffered, he knew better now. He knew better then, after seeing how Jim had suffered, he just didn't want to acknowledge it. The fever was terrible, he felt like he was on fire, delirious almost yet at the same time completely sane; at least he felt like it, the flashes of the people he'd allowed himself to care about were concerning.

He remembered being so bitter after Sophia, taking it out on everyone around him, his parents, Carol even. He had never apologized to her, he wished he had, he wished he'd done a lot of things differently now.

Like with Patrick, after losing his mother and being so bitter the older boy had been so kind, understanding, gentle even, helping Carl through his grieving as much as he could, as much as Carl would allow, he'd taken the brunt force of Carl's emotions with a smile and never once complained. A smile weakly stretched across Carl's lips at the memories…Patrick had been his first kiss and it wasn't even for romantic involvement, it was actually kind of hilarious. Carl had been curious about things and didn't really feel all that comfortable asking anyone in the group; he'd tried to talk to Michonne but she couldn't help him, it was her who had suggested asking Patrick. Ironically enough despite Patrick being male, it hadn't disgusted Carl and it hadn't changed their friendship, and he certainly wasn't going to deny that Patrick was actually a pretty good kisser, and maybe their friendship had changed a little but if it did it was a good change. It was a friendship he missed terribly and the sight of Patrick's blood-covered body still haunted his sleep…he was kind of happy he hadn't seen Patrick as a walker like he had Sophia, the image stuck in his head would probably be a lot worse than what his nightmares tried to summon.

With a deep sigh he reached up, and it was with a lot of effort at that, to wipe his forehead of sweat only for it to be replaced with more sweat as his body fought an infection it wouldn't win against. It took even more effort for him to drink from the open water bottle he had, given to him by Michonne. He'd told them to leave him be, tie him to a tree so he wouldn't wander away, come for him after. He knew he'd always been against allowing people to turn, but he didn't want to put that burden on their shoulders, at least as a walker he wasn't who they remembered, he was something else and they could dispose of him. Realistically he knew that wasn't any easier than killing him while he was alive but he found it better, after all, he had to kill his mother to prevent her from turning and just like Sophia and Patrick, it had stuck with him, stuck with him on the most realistic nightmare level that could be achieved. He didn't wish that on his dad. He didn't wish that on Michonne or anyone else in their group.

No. This was the better option because as brave as he was, as he could be, he couldn't bring himself to end it on his own terms.

So here he was now, tied to a tree and slowly dying, reminiscing about things that could have been different had the people he cared about been alive. His thoughts strayed to Noah, the older teen had been friends with Beth, Carl wagered they would have been more given the chance. He hadn't been particularly close to Noah, not like he'd been with Patrick and Sophia, but to hear how Glenn had described it...the very flesh had literally been torn from Noah's bones, allowing rivers of his life force to run and pool on the ground as tooth and nail alike tore at him like ravenous beasts looking to feed as fast as possible with little care to anything wasted. Carl took a deep, raspy breath. Noah was another death he was sad about yet happy the realism in his nightmares wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Alexandria. Their home. His home. He didn't want to call it that at first but the place had grown on him, the people inside had grown on him. Ron Anderson had been one of those people. He'd been a breath of fresh air after all the shit Carl had been through, friendly, sweet even. Carl remembered the first and last time Ron had spent a night at his home, a smile slowly stretching across his lips. They'd been up late; against Ricks advice of getting some good rest, squeezed onto Carl's bed together. Ron had originally wanted to sleep on the floor then but with the knowledge of months of sleeping on every available hard surface by necessity Carl had denied his request, why choose a hard surface over a perfectly usable bed? He was used to sleeping in close proximity to people anyway so sleeping by himself the last couple days had proven to be a tad stressful on what anxiety Carl had left in his life.

Ron had shrugged it off, seeing no issue with squeezing onto the bed with the slightly shorter male. It had been quiet, at first, before Ron broke the silence by asking...Carl couldn't remember what exactly but it had been the start of a whispered conversation and teenage giggles; Carl dared compare it to the nights he'd spent cuddled with a certain girl. It was...Carl wanted to say nearing at least 3 am, maybe 4? It was a period of time where they were almost delirious with exhaustion, muffling their laughter in their hands when Ron spoke complete and utter gibberish to Carl's ears, literally. Carl had to stop and give him the most confused look ever, asking, in the bluntest way possible, what the fuck he just said. Ron had turned pink in embarrassment, turned out he was fluent in Polish and Carl liked the sound of it; possibly a little too much if his body's reaction was anything to go by.

He remembered the sound of Ron's voice as he said something else, almost shy. He'd told Carl he simply said he wanted them to be good friends; Carl wasn't sure about the translation but the thought was sweet.

His smile faded to a frown. Ron. They had...something. Carl didn't know what, everything happened so fast after, with his dad and Enid and then the wall...he never got to reconcile with Ron, never got to tell him how much his friendship meant to him in times where friends were hard to come by. The bitter part of him blamed his father, like he had for his mother's death, for Patrick's. If his father had at least tried to keep his damn pants on then maybe...no...it wasn't his father fault, at least not entirely.

Pete needed to go, Carl understood that, he understood that Ron loved his father despite the pain. Carl exhaled a wet sounding breath, loving ones parent despite what they have done...he loved his father despite the things he did, he was no different than Ron in that aspect yet the blond boy couldn't seem to comprehend, too busy being angry.

Carl didn't blame him for being angry. He didn't blame him for reacting to his emotions, for trying to hurt Carl as a result of those emotions.

He didn't blame him for unwillingly leaving this Earth before they could even reconcile, before Carl even had a chance to fix something that had been unintentionally broken.

Ron, like Patrick, had left him with things unchecked...things that could never be fixed because the second party had left the world.

Now...now he was doing that with Enid, leaving her with unchecked baggage while Carl joined everyone he'd ever cared about. He hadn't wanted to do that to her, he had liked her, he wanted her to survive with him...now she'd be alone, feeling the same things he had felt when he'd been left by the people he loved.

Now he was leaving his father with another emotional scar that he wasn't sure the man would be able to handle, even with Michonne and Judith. Everything he had of the world before was gone now, there was nothing left of it for him except Carls letter and pictures and who knew how long that would last.

His eyes were heavy now, skin slick with sweat and body temperature hot enough to fry an egg; at least that's what it felt like to Carl. Vision blurry, he closed his eye and for a moment he felt like he could hear them whispering to him, feel their comfort embrace him as the world around him became nothing but dark, ease him into a relaxed state despite his body fighting violently to live; and losing spectacularly.

The world faded, his body numbed, slowly losing the boiling feeling and replacing it with the feeling of bitter cold.

He could feel more clearly, arms wrapped around him, hear soft whispering words in his ear, he felt warm, comfortably so.


End file.
